


down by the river

by bravelikealady



Series: here in this sanctuary [1]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: #RIP, F/M, but i am not tied for most insensitive sister thank you, did you know that bobo del rey is the reason i cry myself to sleep at night?, i am handling this very gently and innocently, i am lostwolfling on both, i only stare into the night and whisper 'robert svane', in a way they did, message me on twitter or tumblr if you have specific concerns and i'll let you know, that's a joke i don't sleep, they took the good one into the hills and slaughtered her, willa earp defense squad, you're still a good one to me bb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 16:12:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12088611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravelikealady/pseuds/bravelikealady
Summary: Willa turns 16 in the quiet of the treehouse."Wind. She howls and grips my bones to shaking.Cold. She holds my legs to cease the moving.Lying by the road I chose to take,I turn my head to see the choice I made."-Dog Ears by The Howling





	down by the river

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thanoswife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanoswife/gifts).



> this is the first of a not at all chronological collection of stories from Willa's time in the treehouse... please feel free to let me know what you'd like to see in the future

“Happy birthday.”

 

He drops the little pink bag on the bedside table and lingers. He can see that she has been crying, as she stares into nothing. Her frame, longer than he remembers, lies tensely curled on the bed, and it’s one of the moments he hates. One of the moments where he realizes that no matter how pretty the cage is, how beautiful the reservoir, this is a kind of hell for her.

 

His eyes trace the curves of her face, a face slowly becoming a woman, and it is the emptiness behind her eyes-  _ near exactly Wyatt’s eyes _ \- that sets a twist in his stomach. This is why he hadn’t come up here in weeks, just empty supply drops when he was sure she was sleeping. This and he thought he was being tracked.

 

_ Maybe she’s angry with me. _ But that would mean she counted on him, in a real way, or wanted him around. And sometimes, it seemed that way… but it couldn’t be true. She didn’t want  _ him _ , she  _ needed anyone _ . She didn’t draw him because he mattered… his was the only face she’d seen in years.

 

He can’t bear to look at her any longer so he stares at his boots. She breaks first, with a sigh, “no, thank you.” She turns to face the window, her back to him. 

 

“Sixteen is… special for girls. From my understanding. Accept the gift, Willa.”

 

“No, thank you.”

 

It’s his turn to sigh. He feels anger start boil from his boots to his brow but he can’t point it at anything. He wants to yell at her, remind her of who- what- he is… 

 

But he’s scared her before.

 

And it scared him, too. He can’t say why.

 

So instead he says, “good night,” not hiding his displeasure, and makes his way out of the treehouse. 

 

“Wait.”

 

Her voice is breaking. He stops.

 

“Bobo?”

 

“I’m not in the business of humoring mood swings, little girl,” but he turns to her as he says it.

 

“You haven’t taken me down by the lake in so long.”

 

“No. I haven’t.”

 

She sits up and her eyes are pleading. Willa tries to hold her face still as stone but tears begin to fall from her eyes.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, looking away from her. She’s the only thing that makes him feel ashamed anymore.  _ Just like Wyatt.  _

 

Except he doesn’t think she means to… 

 

“Will you take me down now? Watch the sunset?”

 

“Last time someone noticed… I lied, covered it, but it’s risky.”

 

“That’s not a no.”

 

“No, it’s not.”

 

She sniffles, but she smiles.

 

“Open your gift. You’ll need a part of it.”

 

~

 

The crunch of leaves beneath their boots fill the silence between them. It is not an uncomfortable silence but he’s glad he has the noise. It helps him keep pace, a sort of metronome to his watch. Both the sky and her cheeks turn a pretty pink in the cold of approaching night, both threaten to distract him from vigilance.

 

“How do you like the coat?”

 

He had gotten her a quilted coat, fleece lined. Her coat had been too small, truthfully, for a few years. But he didn’t want her to feel encouraged to leave the treehouse. He didn’t want to think about what any of his fellow Revenants would do to any girl wondering confused and on her own… and if they found out it was her… 

 

“It’s very blue,” she gives, and a slight smile plays on her lips.

 

“I could take it back in, choose another color.”

 

“No,” she says. “I like it. It’s… a little big, but I like it.”

 

“I did my best.”

 

“I’m sure you did.”

 

She laughs. 

 

“Willa, are you making fun of my tastes?”

 

“Course not. You’re the picture of fashion.”

 

“Well,” his throat feels dry. “Well… I think it suits you.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“I’ll, um… I’ll get you a new hat, too. You can’t be comfortable.”

 

“I like the cold.”

 

They keep walking in silence and sit when they come to the lake. 

 

“You should’ve packed a picnic,” she says.

 

“Are you hungry?”

 

“No, no… I’m fine. I just meant… it would’ve been nice.”

 

For the first time, he really looks into her eyes. And they aren’t really Wyatt’s eyes. They’re… wilder… maybe desperate…

 

_ Maybe that’s my fault… _

 

Willa’s eyes still put hurt in him. But in that moment what Wyatt did to him, what Wyatt made him, seems far away. 

 

“Next time.”

 

“Next time?”

 

“Yes, next time. I’ll… pack a picnic. Just… decide what you’d want.”

 

She looks at him for a while. He lets her.

 

“Okay,” she gives finally and grips at the grass.

 

He lies back, stares at the sky, tries to listen to the river run over rocks. Fear is everywhere, in his fingertips, in the base of his skull. It swirls in his stomach, burns in his chest.  _ If  _ anyone _ finds us, I’ll kill him _ . It calms him a little. The thought of killing. The thought of killing for her.

 

He is surprised when after a few moments she joins him, sprawled on the ground, a strand of her hair tickling his face.

 

“I like the books you got me, too,” she whispers.

 

“Good… why are we whispering?”

 

She giggles, something she hasn’t done since she was a girl, since before she got angry about what he’d done to her and it wraps around him, “I don’t know.”

 

He feels awfully human.

 

They talk for a while, about books she finished reading, that he’s neglected to ( _ I promise, I will, as soon as I can _ ). They talk about him… and he doesn’t give a lot, but he gives enough. His name...  He used to write at sunset, into the night. When he was a man, he needed glasses. She asks for a book on swans next time. She smiles. She laughs. She is effortless.

 

_ Will you find out how my sisters are? _

_ Will you teach me to dance? _

_ Can we see a movie? _

_ Did you mean it, about the picnic? _

 

She wants to learn to drive. 

 

“I don’t know how I’d arrange it, but… we’ll see.”

 

She sits up suddenly and gasps into the now dark sky, breaking the peace of the last few hours. He growls and jumps up in an instant.

 

“WHERE?”

 

But he sees nothing.

 

“No, no, I’m sorry,” she rises to her feet and grips his elbow, letting it go when he jumps at her touch. “I’m sorry… it’s… it’s snowing…”

 

She’s scared of him again, just for a moment, but it’s there. And he hates it, resents it, feels it lick his heels like hellfire. 

 

“I thought… it doesn’t matter… I... I used to love the snow.”

 

“Used to?”

 

“Hmmm.”

 

He breathes in the crisp air, lets it fill his lungs. He tries to bring himself back to this place… the quiet night, the river, the cold- 

 

And her.

 

“I didn’t mean to scare you. Thank you… thank you for bringing me here.”

 

“Of course,” he means it when he says it. 

 

He finds himself looking into her eyes again. She looks back into his. Like he isn’t a cold captor or demon king. She looks back like he’s a man.

 

Willa grips his bare hand in her gloved one and it makes him catch his breath.

 

“Let me drive.”

 

He laughs, “now?”

 

“Now,” she nods, smiling up at him.

 

He feels a twist, a pang, that he hasn’t felt in years. He doesn’t have the time to identify it before he hears himself say, “Okay.”

 

“Okay?” 

 

Willa is breathless and those wild eyes light up.

 

“Let’s go before I change my mind,” he pulls her along, gently gripping her hand back. 

 

There is snow in her hair and somehow he knows he’ll never forget it.


End file.
